


Happy Birthday...Nick?

by J_Q, Raine_on_me



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Birthday Cake, Birthday Flamingos, Birthday Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 08:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_on_me/pseuds/Raine_on_me
Summary: SURPRISE!!!





	Happy Birthday...Nick?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nicrenkel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicrenkel/gifts).



> For our birthday girl.

**_Last Year_ **

 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Mandy asked walking in on her brother beating the shit out of a punching bag.

"It's stupid,” he grumbled not taking the time to look up at her.  _Tap tap_ against the stuffed leather.

“It can't be more stupid than spending your birthday with a punching bag when you could be getting drunk with me,” she smiled shaking the bottle of vodka in her hand.

There was no good answer he could tell her. If he told her the punching bag was a better conversationalist, she'd punch him. If he told her she was a lightweight and he didn't want to take care of her drunk ass on his birthday, again she'd punch him. Mickey decided to shrug and grunt a non-definitive answer, but she came to stand between him and the leather bag.

“Fine. It’s just --” he started but cut himself off with a deep breath. There’s no way he was gonna sound like a whiny bitch. Ripping open the Velcro on the back of his sparing glove, he freed a hand, so he could push at his sweaty hair. He needed a shower. "Ian ain't here, okay?” 

“So?" Mandy shrugged giving him a sneer to show she didn’t see why that would matter. "He's been doing lots of training, right? Had a few medical courses over in Iowa-- like what the fuck are they going to teach, how to bring a potato back to life?" She laughed even if Mickey was rolling his eyes at her. "You never cared about your birthday before. In fact, you hate birthdays. You told Ian--"

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, I know what I fucking said," he sulked and took a deep breath. He'd been trying for an hour to get this off his chest by using the punching bag and that hadn't worked, maybe telling Mandy wouldn't be as bad as he assumed. "But I was wrong. You happy? It’s my first fucking birthday since we’re married,” he eventually confessed. “And I just wanted to celebrate it with my  _husband_. So fuck off."

“Stop you’re whining and get in the goddamn shower. You smell like that guy who always gets off the L at 35th and Archer.” She cracked the seal on the vodka bottle and pulled a joint from her between her tits, offering it to her sulky brother.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m putting my lips anywhere near that thing.”

One joint, half a pack of smokes and most of a bottle of vodka later, Mickey watched his sister wobble in her lawn chair as she tried to get closer to him. “Mick, you gotta be consistent, so Ian knows what you want.” At least that’s what he thought she said. Either her words were slurred or his hearing was drunk.

“Fuck you talkin’ bout,” he barked grabbing the bottle from her hand. “Ain’t nothing consistent ‘bout Gallagher.”

She slumped back in her chair, lifting her feet to his knees. He was gonna push them off, but it turned out the weight of them stopped some of the spinning. “Whatchamean?” she mumbled, eyes drifting shut.

“Fuckin’ hair smells like sunshine,” he decided. Mandy’s eyes popped open. “But the fucker puts pineapple on his pizza. Like it’s a fuckin’ fruit salad.”

He took a long swig from the bottle wondering if maybe he should stop drinking cause he definitely needed to stop talking.

“You a meat lover, Mick?”

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he nodded. Was she making a gay joke?

“What else?” she prompted waving her hand around scattering ashes from her lit cigarette onto their laps. He grabbed the smoke from her, inhaling thoughtfully.

"Like his laugh, his smile, his eyes when the morning light hits them." Turns out he was a fucking poet tonight. He needed to stop, he was sounding like a high school girl with a crush, so he changed gears.

"He's a fucking stick in the mud, y'know." The bottle found its way to his lips again trying to stop him from saying things he should keep to himself. "He used t’ be fun. I get he's fucking crazy, few screws loose. All that shit. But when he danced, the way he moved…that god damn body." One roll of those hips and Mickey was a goner. He shook his head taking another swig and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuckin' all professional now, fuckin’ stick in the mud..." He could feel the laugh beginning in his throat. "Hey Mands, what's brown and sticky?"

"Oh fuck, god don't finish--I will--" She kicked the side of his lawn chair with her bare foot.

"Get your whore mind outta the gutter. It's a joke! It's a stick in the mud!"

"Fuck Mickey, I thought you were..." She shook her head cause she wasn't going there. For too long she shared a wall with her brother's room. She didn't need a reminder.

"What? Think I was gonna tell ya how good he can stick it to me? That he's got the biggest cock?" As he started moving his hands apart to show length, Mandy’s mouth opened wider and wider. He suddenly dropped his hands.

“He’s a good husband,” he could feel the pout forming on his face, “but he’s not here for my birthday.”

****

 

**_This Year_ **

 

Mickey stomped up the stairs to their house, which he figured currently looked like the inside of Tinkerbell's vagina. If there was glitter everywhere, he'd kill his husband. It was bad enough that Ian had put out 25 sparkly blue streamers blocking the door and up the stairs, along with 25 glittery purple balloons, 25 pink flamingos, and a giant cardboard cupcake with “Happy Birthday Mickey” painted on it; because that's what he needed, the whole goddamn neighbourhood knowing it was his fucking birthday.

He was well aware that one year ago he had sent enough late night drunken texts to Ian to secure his position as whiniest bitch on the Southside. Fuck, those messages were burned in his memory bank as a reminder that getting hammered while you’re all needy ain’t gonna end pretty.

_Guess I’ll just get drunk on my birthday. Alone. Without my husband. No big deal. Whatever._

_Whas brown n sticky U R!_

_Where r yer booty shorts I tore part our room man wtf u do with em_

Mickey tilted his head to the side allowing his neck to crack and release some tension before he opened the front door and entered the house. Ian had sent him a message earlier that they would have a night to themselves. That would be the best birthday present, a quiet night, just the two of them. It was getting late, and he was planning on spending the night in his boxers, eating pizza on the couch with Ian, comfortable in their home.

With a bunch of fucking flamingos.

He entered the darkened house wondering where Ian was at. Guy said he’d be home before Mickey. Why was not one fucking light on? Something was off. Sliding his hand along the wall, his fingers met with the light switch and illuminated the living room.

Mickey froze.

There, in the middle of his living room, was a giant blue cake with white trim. The fucking thing was almost as tall as him. How the hell did it even fit through the front door? He wondered randomly before realizing fully that a goddamn human size cake was dominating nearly the entire living room.

“Gallagher?” he yelled, dropping his coat over the back of the nearest chair. “You…in there?”

Music started coming from inside the cake. Something with a hip hop base.

 _Come and put your name on it_  
_Put your name on it_

Mickey licked his lips in anticipation. This shit was weird as fuck, but so was a lot of what the two of them got up to. He was getting an erection just by imaging the situation that could unfold.

 _It's not even my birthday_  
_But he wanna lick the icing off_

His cock twitched cause he definitely wanted to lick some fucking icing off, but first he wanted to confirm that it was actually Ian inside the giant blue dessert.

“Gallagher, get your ass out of there, so I can get my tongue on your icing,” he shouted above the music.

 _I know you want it in the worst way_  
_Can't wait to blow my candles out_

"Surprise!" Ian's head and naked torso appeared out of the top of the cake. He was grinning like he’d won the fucking lottery, and Mickey’s semi-hard dick shot to full attention. He definitely got off on Ian growling obscenities into his ear while he pounded the shit out of him, but nothing was a trigger for him like happy Ian focusing all his manic energy on Mickey.

Before he could do a damn thing about it though, every light in the house turned on, and the Gallagher clan, Milkovich siblings and Kev and Vee jumped out from behind furniture and doorways.

“SURPRISE!”

There was an awkward silence following Mickey’s loud cursing. He’d pulled out some of his best material so all these fuckers would know exactly what he thought of this situation. His eyes darted around the room but ultimately came back to the cake in the centre of the floor.

Fuck, Ian was wearing too few clothes for the number of people here.

Mick let out a low moan. Ian standing in that cake, looking like he used to, back in his dancing years. The little gold tie looped around his neck that he must have kept as a souvenir. His arms raised above his head, his fingers running through his hair. And Mickey didn’t need to see to know what his hips were doing. That shit was his fantasy. Taking a deep breath he tried to focus on something else. Anything except Ian and what he was doing.

Ian could feel everyone's eyes on him; it was no secret what he used to do. But as they all discovered, it's one thing to know and another to see him do it. He glanced down at his tiny spandex gold sparkle shorts. Any illusion of the shy and naive middle child version of him they knew was gone. The guy liner, the leave nothing to the imagination underpants, the copious number of sex toys he left as a trail for Mickey to follow to the bedroom behind him. It was all on display now that the lights were on.

And Mickey standing in front of him, like a deer in headlights. This snapped Ian out of his shock.

"What the fuck, Fi?" Ian asked seeing his sister first. “When the fuck did you guys get here?”

They were not part of his plan. To say the least. Ian had gotten into the cake not knowing that family members were also coming to surprise Mickey for his birthday. It had been warm inside the giant slab of cake and icing, and now that he thought about it, he might have fallen asleep briefly.

"Don't fucking blame me, Mandy told us to show up!" Fiona snapped back at him.

"Snitchy bitch!" Mandy sneered "Mick's the one who was a whiny baby last year, fuckin’ sorry for trying to be nice. Happy fucking birthday douchebag."

With the finger pointing squared away, Kev decided that booze would make things better. Which it would, if Ian hadn’t planned shit ton of ways to say happy birthday to Mickey.

Uncivilized house parties with a handful of people like the Gallaghers and Milkoviches was acceptable unless one of them was dressed like a goddamn porn star. But if people were staying they might as well be drinking.

Ian got himself out of the cake, threw one of Mickey's sweatshirts on and joined the party taking a few sips from one of the many bottles Kev was passing around.

Like every Gallagher party, it didn't take them long to get drunk, passing around a joint or two and blaring the music. Eventually there were whistles and clapping, cheering Ian on and encouraging him to put on the show he had intended for Mickey.

"Fuck off," Ian slurred while swatting at Lip’s hand when he tried to push him toward the cake. If he pushed any harder, Ian would have fallen face first into it. Though having Mickey lick the icing off his face might be sexy.

“He wanna lick the icing off,” he sang making eye contact with Mickey, who was leaning against the wall watching him. “He wanna lick the icing off.”

“When I, when I go down, it's a private party,” Vee joined Ian in singing Rihanna’s birthday song while bumping and grinding against anyone close enough to reach. “He wanna lick the icing off.”

The whole room joined in, shouting out “He want that cake, cake, cake!”

Ian slightly intoxicated moved toward the cake, a little worried the party spirit was going to turn into a witch hunt if he didn’t agree to perform. The music started playing, the beer kept flowing and, of course, he was still fucking horny for Mickey so he agreed to get back in the cake.

Mickey, on the other hand, was less than convinced this was a good idea, but his siblings had other plans.

“Come on, lover boy!” Iggy laughed at his brother’s horror. His attempt at a chest/ shoulder shimmy shake was something that would haunt them all if the booze didn't grace them with memory loss.

“Hey, Mickey what’s brown and sticky?” Mandy yelled from across the room where she was pouring shots. “It ain’t Ian this year!”

“Woo hoo!” The room erupted as Mandy started passing shot glasses down the line until one finally reached Mickey’s hand. He tilted it toward his lips as Ian pulled his hoodie over his head and tossed it toward Mickey. It hit him in the chest just as Ian’s tight little booty shimmied and he stepped into the cake. This shit was happening. Ian was going in the cake, and there was nothing Mickey could do to stop him.

Tearing his eyes off the golden ass, Mickey frowned at the words piped onto the side of the cake in some fancy script. “Who the fuck is Nick?”

Ian looked over the side of the cake and ran a finger along the white icing trying to make the “N” look more like an “M” then he smiled happily at Mickey. “I got a discount because they got your name wrong.”

He licked the tip of his icing coated finger, cranked the music and Magic Mike did his thing.

Mickey was pulled forward and shoved down to the couch between Fiona and Veronica who were hollering very loudly and very animated. "Ya remember he's your brother, right?" Mickey scoffed. Vee was clinging to his arm and insisting he was being a stick in the mud.

“Harrumph,” he concluded but tried to relax enough to not physically remove every asshole from the premise.

Ian looked down from his perch in the cake, but Mickey pointedly refused to meet his gaze even though his tightening jeans indicated he was aware of every movement his hot fucking husband was making.  

Hearing the familiar inhale and exhale as Ian began to move his chest, Mickey had to glance up, just in time to watch him run his hands up along his neck and through his hair. His eyes closed and he tipped his head back as he circled his hips again, body moving fluidly as he seems to lose himself in the dance.

All those years he’d watched Ian dance up on his little pedestal, knowing that he was Mickey’s property but having to wait, to keep his hands to himself for hours while Ian entertained a crowd. Maybe he didn’t miss dancer Ian as much as he thought he did.

"Party’s over!" Mickey growled. Ian's body stopped and his eyes popped open. "This party is fucking over, I said." This time Mickey's eyes made an arc around the room. "I get it. Happy fucking birthday to me. I made it another year without dying. I wanna celebrate and you assholes are getting in the way.”

Still everyone just stared at him, so he flapped his hand toward the front door. “Why you still here? Door’s that way. And take a fucking flamingo with you as a door prize.”

The rush and fluster of everyone leaving, taking the booze with them went unnoticed by Mickey. The noise blended into the background, all he could see was Ian, who jumped out of a cake stumbling toward Mickey before the door was closed behind the last person. Then he was kissing Mickey, and Mickey was grabbing at any part of Ian he could reach.

His mind was reeling, the stupid party, the unnecessarily large cake, and he just wanted the kiss to never end.

Unfortunately for him, Ian pulled away. “I didn't mean for them to be here. I had it all planned out." He admitted which he didn't have to cause Mickey knew this night didn't go as expected.

“You mean leaving a half dozen dildos in the hallway wasn’t a group fucking effort?”

Ian smashed his lips together to keep from howling. “Oh my god, Mick. I was just hoping no one would notice.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged it off. It wasn't like any of them were saints. He was sure Kev and Vee needed to rent a storage unit for their toys, and he knew for sure Iggy was into weird shit. How many times had he walked in on him watching Nascar while fucking some chick in a mask? 

"I don't care about the toys,” he continued. “I fucking care they thought I wouldn't notice their little drinking game."

"What drinking game?" Ian looked surprised, but his hands were lifting the hem of Mickey’s sweater.

"The one where every time you talked about me they took shots."

"It's your birthday, you're supposed to talk about the birthday boy." Ian got his hands under the sweater and onto silky skin.

"Yeah most people don’t need to know that much about my ass, or how I like it when you--" He stopped himself. "Ya know hearing you say it once was enough. Don’t need to repeat that shit."

Ian pouted a little, his lower lip pushed forward. Cute as fucking hell. “Sorry that your birthday didn’t go as you wanted. I messed up again.” Mickey was still staring at the sad little lip and now Ian was staring at his lip, so he moistened it with his tongue. Ian mimicked him.

"I'm sure you can fix it." Mickey broke the lip staring contest and glanced down. Ian's eyes followed to see Mickey's erection. Ian nodded sporting his own bulge, that wasn't as easily hidden.

They kissed again, more heated this time. Ian easily dominated the kiss, maybe it was part of his birthday gift to Mick. He nipped and chewed Mickey's lip as he took his man’s hand and pulled him toward the cake.

“What are you doing--” Mickey glared; how dare he stop this hot moment? Again.

He trailed off when Ian swiped Mickey’s finger through the icing then a pair of warm lips circled his finger sucking the icing off the digit. Mickey added icing to his list of favorite things in the world then he let his mind relax. Ian would take care of him.

"Open your mouth,” Ian smirked. The cake was too good not to share, so he ran his finger along the icing and brought it to Mickey’s lips. Rather than slipping his finger into Mickey’s mouth, he traced blue icing over his bottom lip, then brought his own lips to the sweet softness, sucking it off.

Ian gulped. He needed more of that experience. Struggling to maintain self-control as Mickey separated those perfect pink lips, he swiped another finger full of icing that disappeared along with two of his fingers into Mick’s mouth, which was as warm and wet as he remembered it. Then Mickey's tongue curled around his fingers. God, what he'd give for his cock to be getting the same treatment. But this was Mickey's birthday. 

Shoving the birthday boy into the nearest arm chair, Ian dropped down to his lap, slowly bucking his hips against Mickey as he continued to lick at the inside of his mouth, finding the remaining sweetness. Mickey palmed him over the shiny speedos, giving Ian an occasional squeeze that made him moan into Mickey's mouth and rut against his hand.

"Let’s go to the room," Mickey instructed. “And bring some of that fucking icing.”

“You have a thing for icing now?” Ian teased as he pulled Mickey out of the chair. “Good thing I got a giant cake.”

They didn’t make it far before Mickey got slammed against the nearest wall. Suddenly, he had too many clothes on because his husband was already close to naked. His temperature was rising with each breath and his sweater was suffocating him. He lifted his arms above his head to pull it off, and as his face re-emerged, Ian kissed across his neck and chest, whispering softly against Mickey's skin, "How should I take you tonight?”

Mickey’s arms were still above his head, trapped in the warm material of his sweater, so Ian ran his hands along his biceps, biting the tender flesh around his arm pit and Mickey smacked his head against the wall behind him trying to offset the overwhelming pleasure with a little pain, so he didn’t come in his jeans.

“Mm…mm…mm…gonna remember that you like this,” Ian said biting a little harder and earning a kick in the shin from his husband. “One more place on your body that you are going to associate with me.”

The foot that had kicked him in the shin was wrapping around the back of Ian’s leg bringing them closer together.

“Birthday boy’s choice,” Ian continued tapping a thoughtful finger against his lower lip. “Let’s see, I could bend you over my knee and give you your birthday spankings…all 25 of them…” He lowered his tapping finger to Mickey’s ass smacking it. “Then spread icing all over your body…before fucking you on your hands and knees?”

“Damn,” Mickey moaned opening his eyes to look down the hall at the giant blue cake. “Happy fucking birthday.”

“Yeah, happy fucking…birthday, Mick,” Ian half purred, half sang while his hand moved over Mickey’s belly to disappear into the front of his pants and wrap around his own birthday present. “On second thought, I could just turn you around and fuck you against this door? Mm..." His green eyes looked into Mickey's blue eyes, his devilish grin glistened before his lips kissed a slow path to Mickey’s ear. “My favorite,” he whispered waiting for his husband’s answer as his mind swirled with all the ideas he had in store for them.

“Okay.”

Ian smiled into Mickey’s soft neck wondering if he even knew what he was agreeing to or if he was just mindlessly hoping Ian would finish what he started.

Freeing his arms, Mickey pushed Ian off him, his pants officially too tight to keep on. He watched as Ian's eyes lingered on his cock, his face flushed with arousal. Finally both naked, they embraced in a long, sensual kiss. Mickey made a low, wanting sound. Ian's hands moved across his chest, feeling Mickey’s nipples hardened under his touch.

“Well, Mickey?” Ian prompted. “Oh! Maybe I should go find all the toys, start with those instead.” Slowly, he walked them toward the bedroom, and he pushed Mickey roughly down onto the bed, wasting no time climbing on top and grinding into him. Fuck it felt good.

“Then stop yakking and get on with it.”

Smiling, Ian felt around for the lube that he knows he left out in preparation for tonight, and once he found it, the soft click of the bottle opening had become a sexual trigger that got them both groaning. Ian got liquid all over his fingers and pressed his first finger in with ease. Then he snapped the bottle closed right beside Mickey’s ear, and Mickey grabbed the back of his hair, pulling harshly and bringing Ian’s face up to his.

“I choose you getting in me right fucking now.”

“Okay,” Ian said mindlessly.

Ian's movements became rougher, harder and faster. The sensation caused Mickey to arch his hips up and push against Ian's fingers. Abruptly, Ian's fingers were gone and grabbing at Mickey's hips easing him down, until Ian could enter him forgetting all his talk of birthday spankings, icing and dildos. They were game for a lot of things, but this is what they liked the most. The rhythm of slow and hard thrusts and open mouthed kisses.

“Don’t ever miss my birthday again,” Mickey panted. “Don’t care what I say.”

“Never,” Ian promised. “I love you and happy birthday.”

Mickey's cock suddenly ached with the need to be touched. "Speaking of birthdays…” He paused to grid himself into Ian’s stomach. “How ‘bout a little attention.” His voice was a low groan or maybe even a whimper, a plea.

Ian's fingers wrapped around him, and they pumped in-sync until Ian softly exhaled his husband’s name and the murmur caused Mickey to jerk up into Ian’s hand, coming between them. Then he felt Ian spilling into him.

They exchanged a few love yous and cleaned up, snuggling together in birthday bliss with endorphins still pumping through their veins. Mickey was using Ian’s bicep as a pillow and Ian’s hand was lightly massaging his scalp. Just as he felt the pull of sleep and Ian’s arms tightening around him, Mickey murmured into Ian’s chest. "Hold me closer, tiny da-a-a-a-ancer..." 

Hearing the words of Elton John’s hit song comically out of tune made Ian’s chest rumble with laughter then he started quietly humming the rest of the song, and Mickey was too drunk, too spent and dare he say too happy for the first time ever on his birthday to do anything but hum along.


End file.
